


Back Room Blues

by saraid



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Bottom Blair, M/M, Past Prostitution, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's suffering from his senses, Blair went to Borneo before he met him, and now they meet in a seedy club with a bad reputation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Room Blues

Wandering restlessly around his office, Blair Sandburg checked the stacks of boxes on the walls for the second and third times.

Everything was sealed and properly marked, just as it had been the other ten times he'd checked it. So he went to his desk and hit a button on his answering machine, listening to the squeak as the tape rewound, and then played it for the hundredth time.

"Blair, baby, this is Saundra. The nurse? We met at that club a couple of weeks ago, I know you remember. That was a terrific night. You were great. But I'm not just calling to convince you to call me, I was at work today and this man came in. He was talking about sounds being too loud and lights being  
too bright and I remembered what you said about your paper and the watcher guys with the senses...I've got to get back, I'm on duty, but I'll fax you his chart as soon as I get the chance." 

It was a long message and the last word was cut off abruptly, but the meaning was clear. Saundra, the nurse, who possessed dubious ethics but excellent breasts, thought she had found a Sentinel for him to  
meet. 

She'd left the message just after ten that morning and as a result Blair had spent his last day in Cascade here in his office, lazily playing games on his computer and surfing the web instead of going out and partying with the friends he wouldn't be seeing again for two years or more.

On the plus side it meant that he wouldn't be tired or hungover when he made it to the airport - in less than an hour - but it also meant that he hadn't taken advantage of his last chance to party for two years.

The rest of the team was probably already gathering. If he was going to get to the airport on time he needed to leave now.

The fax had never come.

Sighing, he picked his coat up off the floor and shrugged into it. It was always too cool for him here and he was really looking forward to sweltering jungle heat, steamy and thick.

Standing in the doorway, he took the time to look around the room once more.  
It wasn't much. Just a storage room, but when they'd given it to him to use as an office he'd been ecstatic. It was the first one that he hadn't had to share with another grad student.

Undoubtedly some other lucky TA would get it while he was gone. His stuff would sit over there in the corner, hopefully untouched, until he returned triumphant. 

Or at least without having made a fool of himself.

Minutes after he closed and locked the office door, the obsolete fax machine on the desk sputtered, and then spewed out several sheets of paper that fluttered to the floor, to lie patiently, waiting for the next occupant of the office. 

Who would arrive nearly a month later, and one of her fist actions would be to gather all the loose papers and, swearing at the previous occupant, crumple them up and throw them away.

****

Two years, five months and eleven days later....

"Man!" I am so glad to be back!" With his arms raised to the sky, Blair Sandburg stood outside the terminal at Cascade International and shouted to the sky.

It was cold and rainy and overcast and the people around him just sighed and pushed past him. 

Dropping his arms to his sides, he grinned, a little bit dopey from lack of sleep after his marathon 36-hour travel time, and picked up the two bags he had dropped.

The heavy duffel was stuffed with mementos and clothes and, most importantly, the collection of notebooks he'd filled during his time in the jungle.

Much to his delight and the rest of the partys' dismay, there had been a Sentinel in the tribe they had stayed with.

Not a complete Sentinel, she had only three enhanced senses: taste, smell and touch, but still! He'd been vindicated, his life's work defined.

Now he had months of notes to type into the computer, fodder for a dozen journal-worthy papers, and a subject for his dissertation, something he'd once despaired of ever finding.

It had been a long, difficult and emotionally draining experience, and he was glad it was over, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world.

Gathering his bags and his thoughts, he lugged them over to the nearest taxicab and loaded himself in.

 

"Yeah...right up here, in the middle-"

Leaning into the front of the cab, Blair pointed eagerly at the buildings as they passed, happy to be almost home. Almost back to the warehouse that he called home, anyway...

The warehouse that had apparently dissolved while he was away.

The cab driver pulled up in front of a battered pile of rubble and looked back at him.

"This is 1203 Denver."

"But - my stuff! My house!" Eyes wide, Blair stared, blinked, shook his head, and stared some more.

"I remember reading about the explosion." The man offered helpfully. "Something about a drug lab. There was a big bust."

"My place blew up?" Collapsing back into the seat, Blair just sat, stunned. "Oh, man."

"Is there someplace else you would like to go? A hotel?"

Sitting up to look out the window, Blair sighed and thought about it for a minute.

I've got twenty bucks on me in cash. Everything else was supposed to be sent to the bank while I was gone, but the bank won't be open until Monday morning, and that leaves me two nights  
to get through on twenty bucks...less the cab fare...

Two-and-a-half years ago he'd had enough friends that he could have just dropped in and crashed with any of them, but now, with the evidence of how things could change right in front of him, he wasn't sure it would be a good idea to just drive up and knock on doors. They might have moved or anything. And he  
couldn't afford to just drive around trying to find a place.

There was one place. A place where he knew he was always welcome.

"Is the Last Chance still open?" He saw the cabbie's wince before the man answered.

"It never closes. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Yeah. Chance Adams is a friend of mine."

Sitting back again, enjoying even the questionable comfort of the old cab, Blair saw the man visibly bite back a comment with a glance at the rearview mirror.

But he didn't say anything else, just pulled away from the curb and drove.

The bar was on the far end of town, way out past the university and anything civilized, and the drive gave Blair a chance to shut his eyes and thinks about what he was going to say when he got there.

He'd been a hungry, eager 22-year-old. Just back in Cascade after leaving to get his Master's at another school. Thrilled that Rainier, his undergrad alma mater, had accepted him into their doctoral program, but also flat broke and looking for work.

Not many places wanted to hire a skinny, long-haired kid who had such a complicated schedule. It was just too much trouble for them to work around the various study groups and night classes and tutorials.

Depressed, he'd more-or-less stumbled onto this little bar way out nowhere. His car was out of gas and he'd been half-afraid to going, but Chance had spotted him as soon as he opened the door and sent the bartender to gather him in. 

Blair had quickly discovered that The Last Chance was considered the most dangerous bar in town, and it was also primarily a gay bar.

Drug deals were a routine occurrence, but fights were few and far between, because of Chance's tendency to go armed with a .357 Magnum - and his willingness to use it without hesitation.

Why the man wasn't in jail was a mystery to Blair.

But Chance had been nice to him, offered him a job; first as a barback and then, as he got more comfortable with the clientele, tending bar. He never complained about Blair's schedule and let him keep everything he made in tips besides what Chance paid him.

"You're cute, the guys like to come in and look at you." He would tell Blair. But it was made clear from the start that they weren't allowed to touch, and none ever did.

There were a couple of special features to the bar.

One was the painstakingly restored classic Wurlitzer juke that held place of honor beside the small area that served as a dance floor. The floor was never used, except when stray pool balls bounced off it and had to be chased, but the juke played pretty much night and day.

And there were two rooms in the back. Two small, private rooms, with thick soundproofing on the walls and large mattresses on the floor.

Barely 10x10, these rooms had doors that locked, and there was usually a blanket or two thrown over the mattresses.

Half-blocking the narrow half that divided the rooms from Chance's office was a set of industrial-sized washer and dryer, usually running. 

It wasn't long after Blair started there that he learned what the back rooms were for.

For a small fee Chance rented them out to customers.

Rented the room and usually a man to go with it.

Discovering that his benefactor was essentially a pimp had shaken the young man severely.

A few words with the young men who went into the back rooms proved to him that they weren't being forced into anything, and Chance was protecting them as much as he could. And they were all of age.

It had taken a while, nearly a year, but Blair had eventually become a back room boy. 

Just a few times, with customers that he was really interested in. 

It filled a need he hadn't really acknowledged he had.

A need he'd kept hidden since he was an adolescent.

They were nearing the edge of the city, and Blair roused himself from his thoughts.

Hope I have enough to pay the man.

He glanced at the meter and saw that it read 19.25 already.

"Man, you're gonna have to let me out here. I'll walk the rest of the way. I don't want to stiff you."

Slowing, the cab driver looked around and then twisted his head to look back at Blair.

"I'll do it for fifteen." He said, a touch of kindness in his voice. "Coming home and finding your place blown up is a bad break."

"Hey, thanks." Seriously relieved, Blair grinned widely. 

The Last Chance didn't sport neon lighting or a fancy sign. It was exactly what it was called.

The last place you could go when nowhere else would have you.

The parking lot was still an irregularly shaped patch of unpaved earth.

The walls were clapboard and still needed painting.

In short, as the cabbie pulled up in front of the battered steel door, Blair saw that nothing had changed.

It was early, there were only a couple of cars parked there, but it was Saturday night and he knew it would fill up shortly.

Handing the driver a ten and a five, Blair scrambled out, trying to balance his bags.

"Are you sure this is where you want to be?" The man stuck his head out the window to ask.

"It's okay." Blair smiled at him. "I've got friends here. You don't have to worry about me."

He stood, alone in the parking lot, watching the cab pull away, the weight of his bags pulling at his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

The sun was still up, but hidden behind the typical cloud cover. Everything had a grey cast to it.

Closing his eyes, he could envision the rainforest he'd just returned from.

Deep greens and shadowed blues, droplets of water catching the bright yellow rays that streamed down in the clearings where the tribe built their huts...

Just thinking about it relaxed him, brought a level of calm he'd previously achieved only through meditation. 

Tilting his head back, he stared up at the sky, and smiled.

Yes, the jungle had been nice, but he was still glad to be home. Even if his home proper had vanished, this was still the place he'd grown up.

"In more ways than one." He spoke to himself as he walked across the parking lot, remembering to avoid the innocent-looking little puddle to the right of the door. In reality is was at least six feet deep and had been known to swallow men whole.

The door swung open at a touch, as well-oiled as ever.

Stepping over the threshold, Blair kept his eyes on his feet, not wanting to make eye contact until Chance had spotted him. It was late enough in the afternoon that Chance would be awake. The bar was both business and home to the ex-Navy Seal, whenever he was tired he crashed on one of the mattresses in the back.

One of the reasons the bar was situated outside the city limits was so it could stay open and serve drinks round the clock.

Chance would crash in the back whenever the opportunity presented itself. If he had a trusted employee, as Blair had been, they would cover for him, or he would just pop uppers until  
all the customers left.

Tonight he was behind the bar. Leaning on it, on both elbows, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his denim shirt clean but wrinkled, his buzz-cut hair gray going to white.

His gun was clearly visible in its holster at his waist.

Setting his bags to the side of the door, Blair put his hands behind his back and waited, biting back a smile.

There were three other people in the room, none of whom he recognized. 

Chance tilted his head and studied him, his face scowling.

"I'll be damned." He growled, the sound not particularly welcoming. "You ain't dead."

"Reports of my death have been highly exaggerated." Blair allowed himself to grin now. "How's it hanging, Chance?"

"They got Viagra now, kid, it don't hang at all." The crudity brought a bark of laughter from the men at the nearest table. Chuckling, Blair walked to the bar, weaving his way between closely-packed tables, and hoisted his butt onto a stool.

"I'm busted, man." He said cheerfully. "Get back to town and find my place blown to smithereens. Can I crash here?"

"Sure." Chance shrugged, already going into the small kitchen and putting together sandwiches, talking to Blair through the window. "You looking to make some cash?"

Standing on his stool and leaning over the bar, helping himself to a bottled brew, opening it and drinking with a sigh of relief.

Spreading his arms wide, Blair balanced and looked down at himself.

Wearing the least-ratty of his several pairs of jeans, which were still significantly past their prime, and several tattered t-shirts, with his heavy hiking boots and three pairs of socks to protect his feet, which had forgotten about shoes and now wanted to blister.

He hadn't had a chance to bathe or shave, since they were pulled out rather abruptly, practically thrown onto planes but the Columbian government and ordered back to America. 

So his last bath had been swimming naked in the river with the tribal children, and that nearly two days ago.

Come to think of it, he was surprised they'd let him on the plane in New York, where he'd transferred.

"Not looking like this." he answered Chance, still thinking. Because of ethical concerns he hadn't been able to get as close to that Sentinel as he'd wanted to, and as the youngest and smartest person on their team, he hadn't gotten close enough to either of the two women to find out if they were interested.

So he'd been celibate for just about 30 months now, if you didn't count a little self-help.

In fact, the last person he'd had sex with had been that nurse, what was her name...?

"You know where the shower is." Placing a plate in front of him, holding two thick tuna fish sandwiches, Chance studied him. "The rough look is good on you."

"You think?" His stomach reminded him that the last three meals it had received had consisted of airplane food, and he devoured the offering with nary a speck of grace.

Handing him a second beer to wash it down, Chance grunted with approval. Then he took the plate and pointed toward the back.

"Put your stuff in the office and grab a shower. You got clothes?"

"Clothes? They used to be clothes..." Already hopping down, Blair shrugged. "I'm fine, man. This is great. Thanks."

He tried to put all of his appreciation into those words and he was pretty sure Chance heard it.

There was a real bathroom in the back of Chance's office, with a large shower stall  
and privacy lock.

Every once in a while it had to be used to sober somebody up quick, but mostly it was Chance's. Blair had on occasion shared it with a man or two, when he was with someone he liked enough and felt close enough to to do that.

Tonight Blair hogged the hot water greedily, scrubbing with a rough brush and soaping his hair several times.

He'd given up six months into the trip and cut it, repeating it as often as required for comfort, and now it was just past his ears, the curls making it bushy.

Thinking about what Chance had asked, if he wanted to make some cash tonight, he spent some extra time cleaning himself. 

The movements sparked memories; one finger, soapy, inside, then two, working the soap in, doing some stretching, getting clean and opened up at the same time.

Under the balls, scrub a bit - mmmm, that felt good – and then work his cock a little bit.

By the time he was clean, Blair knew the answer to Chance's question. He did want to make some money tonight. He wanted to get laid, he wanted to be fucked. It had been so long since he was on the bottom, just thinking about laying back and letting some big butch stud have his way with him made him hard.

He was breathing a little fast now and had to force his hands away from his cock, telling it that it would have a lot more fun if they waited until they found somebody to play with.

He pulled on a pair of worn jeans, more holes than fabric, and topped it with two old t-shirts. He didn't have to put his boots back on and that was good because his feet were feeling tender.

Before going back into the bar he checked the back rooms. One was a mess, with beer bottles and condom wrappers on the floor, the mattress bare. The other had a clean floor but no blankets either.

Helping himself, he dug through the stack of blankets on the dryer and picked the two that were in the best shape, a bit softer than the others but by no means downy soft. 

But not too many holes and they smelled clean.

One was a baby blue, stained but still bright, and the other was black faded to grey.

Going back, he spread them neatly on the bare mattress, the blue on top, and grinned with expectation.

This was what he needed. Ohhh, yeah.

 

Sitting at the bar, chatting to Chance, telling him about the jungle in between customer requests, Blair was on his fourth beer. He could feel it hitting his system. The tribe the research group had stayed with did drink, a crude form of beer the men made, but only on ceremonial occasion, so it was likely that any  
tolerance Blair had developed was gone now.

The door opened and everyone stopped talking when they saw who was standing there. They hurriedly turned back to their business before they made eye contact with the man coming in. Chance looked up in the silence and just watched the man settle himself.

He was heavily muscled, wearing a black torn t-shirt, faded jeans worn white in place, most notably outlining his huge cock. The clothes were clean but old.  
He had long hair held back from his forehead with a bandanna and several days of unshaven beard  
stubble. Scanning the room before moving forward, he made his way through the crowd to sit at the end of the bar opposite Blair. 

His actions screamed military but not his appearance.

Taking no notice of the stares he was receiving, he quietly sipped the beer Chance slapped down in front of him, licking the foam off his upper lip.

Blair's mouth watered as he watch the tongue sweeping across the man's lips. It had been a long time since he felt safe watching a man so closely, but this one made the him think the drought was over.

Coming back to him as the noise picked up again, Chance noticed Blair's interest. He leaned on his elbows again, getting right down in the young man's face, and spoke with a puff of smoke that made Blair blink.

"He's not for you, amigo. That's probably the most vicious man in here besides me. Used to be a cop, then a busload of people got blown up by a bomber he couldn't catch. Now he's just crazy. Buys his stuff from Jethro over there, and I hear he isn't too picky about the quality. You know what I mean?"

"How bad can he be?" Blair grinned brightly, his head filled with quietly buzzing insects. "You know me, man, I like 'em big and rough."

"Not that rough." Chance said, and there was more vehemence now. He was getting insistent. "You're a good kid, and I wouldn't wanna see you hurt."

"You telling me you won't deal me?" Miffed and slightly hurt, his higher reasoning abilities clouded by his buzz, Blair half-pushed off the bar, intending to go over to the guy himself.

Intent upon their private discussion, neither of them noticed the when the man began watching them. It was sudden, like a switch had been thrown. He was drinking his beer, and then his head swiveled round and his blue eyes, fogged by drugs and pain, focused on them.

Chance grabbed Blair's shoulders and sat him down forcefully.

"That's what you want? Some big bruiser that'll make sure you feel it tomorrow?" The words were completely non-judgmental, he wasn't criticizing. Just establishing the boundaries.

Looking from Chance to the ex-cop, Blair met the blue eyes. His body throbbed and he marveled at the strength of his reaction.

"Yeah, man." He told his friend quietly. "That's what I want."

"He's hurt a couple of guys, kid." Chance was warning him, giving him plenty of room to back out.

"So? Classes don't start for another two weeks. I got plenty of time to recover."

Standing back, the bartender crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

"I don't want you locking the door."

"You gonna save me?" Blair waggled his eyebrows at him and drained his beer. He was drunk, and it felt great. 

"You know I will." Chance sighed, seeming disappointed. "I'll make him an offer. What do you want?"

"Um, two hundred." Blair grinned at Chance's snort. "Hey, if he's gonna be rough I want him to pay for it."

After getting Blair another beer, Chance went to talk to the stranger.

Blair was distracted by a couple of guys dancing, rather crudely, but turned his head back when the ex-cop burst into laughter, long and loud.

When Chance came back his face was set and hard, he was angry.

"He says you want it too bad to pay for it." He snapped.

"Chance!" Ronny, the little guy that worked the kitchen on the weekends called through the window. "I'm gettin' swamped here!"

"You're on your own, kid." Turning his back on Blair, Chance ducked back into the kitchen, where he was immediately too involved to pay attention to what was going on out front.

The refusal was like a bucket of cold water. Blair's arousal died and he threw the man a dirty look, but the guy had the gall to laugh at him. He rubbed a big hand over his crotch, where the cotton was stretched obscenely tight, and deliberately licked his lips.

It was like he'd stepped into a sauna. Suddenly Blair was so hot he could barely breathe. Every nerve in his body seemed to go on alert. His hands clenched on the bottle, threatening to  
break the brown glass.

He couldn't look away from the man that taunted him.

And when the man got up and padded over to him – his movement eerily reminiscent of a jaguar Blair had had the privilege of watching in the jungle - Blair felt his cock grow dangerously hard.

Stopping behind him, standing casually, as if he didn't have a steel rod between his legs, he leaned just close enough to speak to Blair, too low for anyone else to hear. 

"I won't pay for it, but if you want it bad enough you can have it, Chief."

Turning on the stool, Blair opened his mouth and tried to speak.

"My name is -"

But the quick shake of the other's head made him snap his mouth shut.

Now that they were face-to-face the stranger was looking him over more carefully.

"Do you need the money?" He asked, finally. 

Stricken with sudden honesty, Blair shook his head.

"I got plenty in the bank."

"So that's part of the thrill." He nodded, as if he understood that. "The part I like is holding some cute little guy down and fucking him raw." The words were said flatly, with no inflection, and Blair shivered.

"Sounds good to me." He managed to keep the same tone.

"Lead the way." Gesturing with one arm, making Blair feel again that he was being mocked, the man half-bowed.

Leading him down the narrow hallway, Blair worried briefly that Chance wouldn't know where he'd gone, but then quelled that. Any one of the hundred men in that room would tell him as soon as  
he asked, or even seemed to be looking for Blair.

He wasn't in any danger. If the guy got too rough he'd only have to scream and Chance would come running, gun drawn. The rooms were kinda soundproofed, but really loud noises got out. He'd found that out listening to others in the past. 

He led the man past the dirty room and into the one he'd prepared earlier.

Turning to watch, he spoke up when the man would have locked the door.

"No. Leave it unlocked."

"You gonna run screaming like a virgin, Chief?" He wasn't happy with the request. Stepping up close to him, Blair placed both hands on the broad chest and leaned close, tilting his head to look up at him.

"I'm no virgin, man, but I don't take chances. Don't lock the damned door."

"Fine." 

"What do I call you?" Beginning to stroke his chest, Blair leaned closer and nuzzled under the strong jaw, which was crusted with stubble.

"You don't call me anything." The guy sounded like he was having a hard time catching his breath and Blair smiled.

Then yelped when he was shoved, hard, and went sprawling backwards to land on the mattress. Remembering other times, feeling his body remember, too, and respond by leaping to painful arousal, he bit down hard on his lower lip and restrained the protest that wanted to escape.

The light clicked off and he blinked, disoriented by the near-total darkness, only a thin line of illumination coming from the crack beneath the door, and then tensed, waiting for whatever came next.

Fear made his heart beat faster and his cock grow harder.

His hands fisted in the blankets he'd so carefully spread only a couple of hours before.

He hoped the guy was into foreplay, or at least kissing - it had been a long time since he kissed someone, and he loved that, tasting another person, breathing their air, the intimacy of it.

The mattress dipped and he turned, reaching, and then he did yelp, as strong, too strong hands grabbed at his waist and flipped him over.

"Hey! Some warning, man!"

"Too late, Curly, I can't wait. I need this." The deep voice growled low in his ear as the man's weight flattened him to the blankets. Twisting his head to the side Blair managed to breath, and he reached back with both arms, trying to touch his bed partner.

His hands connected with slick sweaty sides and clung there as the man yanked open his jeans and pulled them down.

"No foreplay, huh?" he said it a little sadly.

"You wanted to get fucked, you're going to get fucked." The voice was worse now, hoarse and ragged. In the quiet room their breathing was immensely loud, filling the space as well as the darkness did.

"Yeah, okay." Wriggling his ass a bit, Blair lifted it high enough that his jeans could be slid off. It was a good thing he'd cleaned and stretched himself in the shower, he had the feeling he wasn't going to get much of that attention now.

The mattress was stiff where his face pressed into it, but the blankets smelled clean.

Just as he'd thought, as soon as his jeans were free the man behind him grabbed his hips with big hands, those strong hands, and lifted his ass in the air, just the way he'd wanted. Relaxing his shoulders and back, trusting his bent legs to keep him up, Blair closed his eyes and half-smiled in anticipation of  
the next action. He could lay here and this guy could pound him and it would feel so good. 

There was no word of warning, not comment, all he felt was the hot, hard head of the man's cock probing right up between his cheeks, and then a splitting, searing pain as the guy shoved right on in, without a thought for Blair.

"SHIT!" Lunging forward onto his elbows, his body suddenly tense and tight, Blair was stopped by the grip on his hips. Briefly he fought, trying to pull away, and then he changed tactics, trying to turn and talking to the guy.

"Hey! Hey, man, slow the fuck down! Ease off, that fucking hurts!" No matter how he twisted he couldn't get a good look at the man behind him and there wasn't enough light for him to see him clearly anyhow.

But one of the hands left his hip and slid forward to wrap around Blair's shrinking cock and it quickly decided to forgive him and swelled to renewed hardness.

The pain hadn't faded much, he still had to grit his teeth, but at least the guy wasn't thrusting.  
Yet. 

He didn't think this guy was going to be giving him much more time before they really got down to it.

Breathing harshly through his nose, trying to control his body's response - to both the hand that manipulated him skillfully and the piece of flaming iron currently shoved up his ass - he tried to make a decision.

He could call for help - someone would hear him if he screamed loud enough, it had been done before - or he could try to relax into it and get what pleasure he could, since the damage was already done.

Fingers stroked delicately over the aching head of his cock and that decided it for him. Gritting his teeth and leaning into his elbows, he shifted his hips backwards just an inch or so. The resulting flare of pain made him moan low in his throat, but the man understood what he was saying all too well. 

With a groan that sounded like he was in pain as well, he pulled what had to be a huge cock out of Blair's ass and then slammed it in again.

"FUUUCK!!!!" Scrambling, Blair tried to pull away again, but this time there was another stroke, and another before he reacted. Then they were coming one after the other, faster and harder than he'd ever gotten it before, and the guy that was fucking him was moaning and spitting out words and somehow he was hitting Blair's prostate and Blair's cock was thrumming with each thrust, begging for more while the rest of him screamed.

Hazily Blair thought that this was what people must be looking for in S&M games....

"God help me - I can't can't stand it - too much, too much, too much!" The man fucking him was moaning.

Too far gone to hear what the guy was saying, Blair quit even trying to listen and just dug into his resources, trying to hold on for the ride. The pain was lessening, he was getting slippery, but it still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Fortunately his cock was very happy with what it was getting so he was able to shift his focus to it somewhat and sortof enjoy the sensations.

It was what he'd wanted, after all. Some big butch guy to take over and do what he wanted to Blair's body.

Looked like the guy didn't mean 'fuck him raw' as a metaphor, though.

With his elbows digging into the mattress as he took the powerful thrusts, each one seemingly harder than the last, his face pressed just under his arms, nose mashed against the soft top blanket, legs spread wide with that guy between them, Blair hung on and started wondering how long it was going to take. His own erection was primed and ready, all he needed to do was get a hand down there and he would come like a fountain, but he knew the minute he moved an arm he'd be shoved flat and that would change the angle of penetration and then it wouldn't feel so good anymore and he knew the minute it stopped feeling good he was going to be in a world of hurt.

So he hung on, each thrust slamming home as deep as he'd ever been touched.

He listened more to what the guy was saying, the harsh voice low and ragged and starting to sound desperate.

"Gotta - gotta - need to, want to, can't can't can't..."

So there was a problem here. Lifting his head a little, turning it just far enough to the side that he could speak, his own voice thick and heavy, he panted back words of encouragement, body still rocking with each stroke. 

"Come on, man, you can do it. Come in my ass, come inside me, touch me and make me come and I'll take you with me...you know you want it, let yourself go, man, do it..." 

"Want to...need to..." The words were punctuated with thrusts, still as strong as when they had started.

"Then do it, man. I'm hanging here, jack me already, willya?!"

There was a single, blessed moment of stillness, and then a hand closed tightly around Blair's straining cock.

"God, yes." He groaned and it only took a couple of pulls and he was coming. Shuddering helplessly, arms collapsing, streams of come splattering over his chest and belly, it was as if he was a marionette, and someone had just cut his strings. He fell into a splayed puddle of human.

He felt the man follow him down, felt the last few pounding thrusts - these didn't hurt at all, his body was completely happy for the moment - and then heard the deep, despairing moan, feeling the heat of come within him, burning like it never had before.

"Jesus." The word seemed particularly apt.

A few minutes passed in silence, and Blair's body decided it was time to tell him what was what.

It started to hurt.

Really hurt.

The places on his hips that ached deep from bruises was no big deal, but his ass was a fire of agony.

"Get off me, man, I am fucked up here." He tried to shrug, but that hurt worse and he couldn't restrain a yelp.

"Go ear-!" Biting down hard on his own arm to restrain the scream that threatened, Blair knew he shouldn't be surprised when the guy just pulled right out, brutally, but then his head was swimming and he couldn't think too well. 

When he opened his eyes again, the light was on and he was turned over and covered with a blanket.

His playmate was crouching beside him, staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

Half guilt and half anger, with an overcast of despair, it moved Blair to comment.

"Hey. I'll live."

"Until the next time you do something this stupid." The man snarled. "You didn't even ask about a condom, Curly."

"You didn't give me much of a chance." Blair responded. He was holding himself stiffly because of the pain that was radiating from his ass and up his back. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but he was badly bruised, inside and out.

"I told you what I liked."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did."

Closing his eyes again, he tried to relax.

"If you're leaving, will you tell Chance to bring me some painkillers? I'd like to get to sleep before this gets any worse."

Opening his eyes quickly, meaning to change that request, Blair stared.

There were tears in the bright blue eyes that still stared at him.

"You know..." With an effort Blair lifted an arm and laid a hand on the nearest knee. "It doesn't have to be like that." 

The kindness was apparently misplaced, because the man got up and kicked the mattress, jostling Blair and making him moan.

"This is the way it is." The words ground out, and then he was gone, leaving the light on and the door cracked open.

Closing his eyes, Blair lay very still and tried not to think about why his ass and thighs felt sticky.

Chance would come in soon, and Chance would take care of him.

After he bitched about Blair not listening to him in the first place....

The exhaustion of 36 hours of travel added to the violent sex and the beer he'd consumed all combined rather suddenly and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*******

"Yo, Blair? You gonna get up anytime soon? Want some food or something?"

Opening his eyes with a moan, Blair squinted at the back-lit figure in the doorway.

And then moaned again, when he tried to lift his head. Pain spasmed down his back to the base of his spine, which seemed to be locked into place. Gasping, he froze, trying not to move, but even breathing hurt. The pounding he'd taken must have bruised him worse than he thought. Even the bones of his pelvis hurt, deep inside.

Dropping to his knees beside him, Ronny peeled back the blanket and sucked in a breath. Scrambling back to his feet he was nearly out of the room before his blurted words reached Blair's buzzing ears.

"I'm gonna get Chance!"

 

"You really did it this time, kid." 

Biting back more sounds of pain, but unable to keep from making the little noises in his throat, Blair didn't reply as he was turned over and the bar owner finished stripping him. "I told you that guy was mean."

"Well there's mean and then there's mean -!" Blair panted, then gasped as his ass was unceremoniously inspected. Chance was gentle but didn't take particular care not to hurt him.

"You're kinda tore up. Might need a doctor." The touch of a warm wet washcloth nearly sent Blair off the mattress, the slight scratchiness igniting agony as he was cleaned.

"Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"You done did that." Chance's laughter was rough, and totally in character. "You want a ride to the hospital?"

"No way, man, they'll make me file a report and keep me there as long as they can." The pain eased slightly, the warmth of the cloth soothing raw tissues as it lay still now.

"I got a friend. Want I should call him?"

"He legit?"

"He's a vet." Out of the corner of his eye, head pillowed on folded arms, Blair saw the shrug. "Used to dealing with messy situations, if you catch my drift. He's big in the B&D scene."

"Well, I feel like a piece of meat now, guess one more won't hurt." Grudgingly, knowing he needed to take care of himself, Blair agreed.

"Drink this." A shot glass was pushed close to his face and Blair fumbled before getting a grip on it. Closing his eyes, he gulped it down, and his eyes watered, his throat burned.

"What was that?" He choked out.

"Something strong enough to relax you." Chance said. "Don't want to give ya anything until Davy's had a chance to look at ya."

"Will it take him long to get here?" It would be really nice to take a shower, but Blair was pretty sure that standing up wasn't going to be on his agenda for a day or two. Sitting down was right out. Good thing classes didn't start for two weeks. 

He snorted, remembering his flippant words to Chance the night before. Fate had a mean sense of humor, and he was paying for them now.

"Lay still, I'll send Ronny in with something you can eat." Standing, Chance put his hands on his hips and glared down at Blair. "You're one of my favorite people, kid, but this is pushing it. You're cutting into my sleep here."

Understanding the kindness hidden behind the harsh words and tone, Blair tried a small smile.

"Sorry, man. You should've known trouble was coming as soon as I walked in the door."

Chance snorted and glared harder.

"I did."

*******

Rolling out of bed - literally - James Ellison clenched his jaw and struggled to overcome the vertigo that overwhelmed him, just long enough to get to his stash. The bottom drawer of his nightstand held the dozen or so little plastic baggies that made his life bearable now. On hands and knees he scooted to it,  
fumbling with it, hands stinging at the contact, the touch of well-worn wood suddenly agonizing. 

Sounds from the street outside his loft rose to torment him and he heard himself make a small whimpering sound as he tore open the nearest bag with his teeth, not caring which one it was as long as it brought relief, needing it before he was lost in one of the sensory fogs that had been sneaking up on him more and more often lately. 

Gulping down a handful of yellow-and-red striped capsules, he curled into a fetal ball on the floor, half under his bare bed, and waited for the ‘ludes to take effect.

Some time later - he couldn't be sure how long - he raised his head, and sighed with shame.

The painful flashes of sensation were fading, blocked by the illegal drugs, but he knew he would have to add to the cocktail or it wouldn't last. Able to sit now, and move, he picked up the drawer and the scattered bags, painstakingly collecting each spilled capsule, and tucked them all away again.

It wouldn't be fair to Simon to have all this proof of his habit lying around when the man dropped by, the way he did every Sunday afternoon. Bad enough his friend knew he was using drugs and had to choose between Jim's professed need and his own integrity. Frankly, Jim was glad he'd chosen Jim over the integrity, because spending the rest of his life in a padded room someplace was enough to make suicide look worthwhile.

Like that wasn't what he was doing now. Slowly, but surely, he was killing himself.

With a second collection of pills held safely in one fisted hand, he carefully made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Last night he'd been too fucked up when he got home to take a glass of water up with him, the way he usually did. 

Last night.

The memory made him moan, leaning on the bare kitchen island, remembering the cute, horny young man he'd used so roughly. It had been months since he'd given in to that need, the desire to make contact with another human being. Touching someone was usually too painful to bear, but his body demanded the chance to release itself occasionally. And seeing how hot the young guy had been for him had pushed him over that edge. Sex was so difficult now, he had to work so hard to get past the discomfort of the spiking senses to be able to come, it was as painful as it was satisfying.

But he'd been way too rough. Even more so than usual. Sometime today he should probably call the bar and see if Chance would tell him how the guy was.

In the meantime he needed to shower and try to write up a shopping list to give to Simon. His friend would get his food for him, because grocery stores at anytime of day were too bright and and noisy for Jim now.

A shower, if he could stand the cascading water, if not, then he'd make do with a sponge bath. He had several silk cloths that made that almost tolerable. Then clothes - he went nude whenever he was alone, which was almost all the time now – and maybe he'd even feel up to watching some television.

Crossing through the living room, which contained only a single chair and the television, which was silent most of the time, he entered the bathroom, which was in the same condition.

The medicine cabinet was empty, there were two towels on the rack, both expensive velour ones with the finest nap Simon had been able to find. There was a single half-used bar of Neutrogena glycerin soap, the only one he'd been able to tolerate in months.

Looking at himself in the dim light of a 15-watt bulb, he winced, running his fingers through the curly hair at his groin. It was stiff with blood, and the sight and smell of it made him shudder, feeling bile rise in his throat, burning.

Gagging, he retched up the diluted remnants of his drugs, the biter taste making him gag harder, the tremors in his stomach radiating pain through him.

But it couldn't be anything like the pain he'd put that guy through. How had he stood it? Jim remembered the smaller man urging, ordering him to get him off, he'd only asked him to stop that one time, at the beginning, and then he'd pushed back and seemed to want it...

Going to wipe his mouth, Jim flinched and turned on the water instead, not wanting to touch the slimy stuff that coated his chin, the harsh scrape of beard unbearable.

Then he looked into the mirror, seeing dilated, bloodshot eyes set in a too-thin, too-pale face, sandy hair clumping greasily over his shoulders.

It was Sunday. Simon was coming over today. Jim would clean up, get dressed, and try to shave, if he could tolerate the scrape of the razor. He would talk to his friend, if the captain remembered to whisper, and give him the shopping list. Maybe they could step outside onto the balcony for a few minutes, if the  
skies were cloudy enough.

On Sundays he tried his hardest to be human, because he needed Simon, needed his friend and only connection to the real world. The rest of the week he could vegetate in a drug-induced stupor until he was under control, and once in a while call a cab and head over to the Last Chance, when he felt really good.

Wash his hair. That meant a shower. With another shudder he turned on the water, each droplet feeling like a tiny needle driven into his skin, but he stepped under it anyhow.

Penance, of a sort.

*******

"Jim? Ellison." Coming into the loft for the second time that day, Captain Simon Banks of Major Crime, Cascade PD, searched visually for his lost officer.

Lost in essential ways. Since the Switchman case Jim Ellison, Simon's friend and best detective, had been caught in this surreal existence, trapped by the hyperactive senses the older man at first dismissed as imagination and now cursed daily.

Remembering to lower his voice, he set the three bags carefully on the kitchen island and crept around the chair, not surprised to find the man curled on the floor. Jim hadn't been in very good shape when he left, he'd showered and shaved and the stimulation had sent his tactile sense off the scale, making him  
so sensitive the very air hurt his skin.

"Jim?" Whispering, he knelt on one knee but didn't touch the man, who only groaned in reply, not opening his eyes.

"I got the groceries - I'll just put them away, okay?" Rising, Simon realized that he'd forgotten to take off his shoes at the door, and the vibrations of them hitting the floor would hurt Jim further. Silently cursing himself, he slipped them off and continued in thick stockings, the ones he tried to remember  
to wear when he came over here.

It took only a few minutes to get the groceries squared away. It was all prepared stuff, things Jim could throw into the microwave and heat up in a moment of control. The blandness of pre-packaged, prepared foods was actually a bonus, it all tasted much the same and so didn't aggravate a too-sensitive tongue.

By the time he was done Jim had managed to roll to his butt, sitting with the care Simon associated with drug addicts who weren't sure if the room was spinning or they were.

"I'll just make up the futon for you." He approached closely enough to whisper, and got a jerky nod in response.

In the small spare room - no way Jim was going to make it up those stairs today - he spread silk sheets over the overstuffed futon, which was as comfortable to Jim as the big bed upstairs. He himself had bought the sheets, as he'd bought the towels and soap and groceries. The money came from Ellison's account, he'd given Simon his ATM card nearly two years ago, the first time Jim had been unable to go outside and get the things he needed. Simon mused that the settlement Jim had received from his time in the Army had served him well, supplementing the department disability payments for post-traumatic stress syndrome that Simon had procured for him as well. Between the two of them Jim had enough  
money to live on, even enough to afford treatment, if there had been any available for his peculiar problem. 

When the sheets were pulled tight over the futon, resting on the floor, he went back into the living room, to find Jim stripping clumsily. The clothes were annoying him again. Averting his eyes, he tried to ask softly, hoping for an answer.

"There's food, and I left the cash on the counter. Do you want me to come back tomorrow?"

"No." The word was hissed. "Just leave. Before I don't have anything left." 

Wanting to help, torn between his need to help and Jim's need to suffer privately, Simon gave in, as he always did.

"I'll see you next week. Don't worry about shaving and showering next time, I'd rather talk to you when you stink than not at all."

Naked now, Jim grunted, and began crawling across the floor, hands searching the space before him, and Simon realized that he was blind again.

"Sorry." Reaching the small bedroom, Jim muttered the word harshly, and then went inside. Simon heard the thump of his body hitting the futon and the hiss of pain as he adjusted.

He waited a long time, sitting silently in the single chair, before letting himself out.

This wasn't a life Jim was living. It was hell, and his friend could do nothing to save him.

*******

"Well, you're going to live, as long as you avoid sex for a couple of weeks." The veterinarian, he of the unlikely name Davy Jones, patted Blair gently on the flank after he finished the exam and treatment of his raw and bleeding butt.

"That feels much better." Blair said thankfully. The aches and pains had been eased by painkillers, and his sore ass was soothed by an anesthetic cream that Davy said was used on cow udders when they got irritated, so they could still be milked.

"I've got to find a new apartment and buy some stuff." Blair mumbled, half-asleep, the relief of pain making him drowsy.

"I'd recommend you stay down for a day or so." Davy said. He seemed casual about the whole thing, and Blair wondered what he usually saw when he got calls like this.

"I'll keep him down." Chance said.

"I'll need to go to the bathroom eventually." Blair muttered. In fact, he already did, but was avoiding it because he knew it was going to hurt.

"You're gonna need help getting up." Davy said. He rummaged in the battered leather briefcase that served him as a medical bag. "Take a couple of these, too, with the antibiotics. They'll give you the runs, but you won't have to strain."

"Shit." Grimacing, Blair added that to the collection of small brown bottles he'd gathered.

"Warned ya." Chance smirked.

"I'm sleeping now." Blair replied firmly, closing his eyes.

"Holler for me or Ronny when you need to get up." The bartender gave Blair a look that was almost affectionate, and the student wondered, not for the first time, why the other man had never hit on him. Chance was one-hundred-percent gay, and frequently picked guys up in the club, but had never approached Blair. For some reason this bothered him suddenly. He opened his eyes again to stare inquisitively at his friend.

As if he'd read his mind, Chance shook his head. 

"You're not my type, kid. Too much hair. I like my men slick and smooth."

"He was smooth." Mumbling again, Blair resettled himself gingerly.

"Who?"

"That guy, last night. The ex-cop. Slick and smooth..."

"Sleep well, punk." Chance laughed at him as he left the small room, leaving the door cracked open. 

*******

Moving stiffly, Blair got up from his mattress and wandered out into the bar, looking around with bleary eyes, wondering how the time had passed so quickly.

He'd stayed up too late the night before, partying with a group of guys from the military base who had come in to see what was so special about this place. Normally guys like that left pretty quickly when they got a whiff of the Last Chance atmosphere - which Blair had to admit could be pretty depressing - but these had been tougher than the usual and stuck it out. Quarters had been the game and he'd won for a while, until his alcohol consumption overrode his natural agility. Vaguely he remembered crawling back to the room, alone, and crashing sometime around dawn. Somebody had covered him up with a blanket  
\- the light blue one, which was probably permanently stained with his blood, faded by washing to a pale maroon - he figured it had been Chance.

Sitting at the bar, something he'd only started doing again a week ago, he stared for a minute at the clock, which read 5:14 p.m., and then groaned.

"Down to the wire, kid." Chance's voice came from the kitchen, where he must've been down cleaning beneath the grill. "You start teaching on Monday, dontcha?"

"Yeah." Blair rested his head in his hands. His adventure with the ex-cop a couple of weeks ago had done more damage than he'd expected. The rectal tears had healed quickly enough, with the creams and drugs Dr. Davy had provided, but the bruising and muscle pain had prevented him from hitting the streets and hunting for a new place the way he needed to. He'd tried once, and wound up taking a cab back to the bar when the ache in his pelvis spiked to sudden agony. The consensus was that a ligament, which Blair knew held the pelvic bones to the hips, had been pulled and that sort of thing took longer to heal. "I'll get out there tomorrow. I may have to use a cab the whole day, but I'll find something." 

"Why don't ya just buy a car and drive yourself?"

"I haven't driven in years, man. I don't even know if my license is current and I'm really not up to standing in line at the DMV for hours on end."

"You can stay here as long as ya need, but I don't think you want to be giving your students this number to contact you at." Straightening to where Blair could see him, Chance smirked.

"You got that right." Blair agreed. Sliding off the stool without a wince, he went around to behind the bar and searched one of the refrigerators. "You got any tongue down here, Chance?"

"Not." A laugh sounded behind him. "Try the ham, it's pretty good."

“'Kay, thanks." Making himself to a thick sandwich and taking a beer, Blair got himself settled again while the bartender came back out.

"You know your playmate is due back soon. He hasn't been in for his rations lately, he must be running low." 

"How nice for him." Blair spoke around a large bite of ham and mustard and rye. 

"You ain't planning a repeat performance?" Joining him with a sandwich of his own, Chance looked bothered by something.

"I don't have two weeks to spend recovering." Blair answered, gulping his beer. "I admit, I've been a bit lazy this week, but everything still hurts a bit."

"Good." The man seemed pleased by that. "I don't like to see you hurt."

"I've been hurt before." Blair studied the man, curious.

"Not like that. I don't get it, kid - you've never played at the B&D scene, how did you just lay there while he hurt you? I know you felt what he did."

Hearing the worry and confusion, Blair tried to answer honestly.

"I made a decision. It's not like I didn't get anything out of it, man, I did. It felt great for a while, and I really got an understanding of what people who do the BDSM stuff get out of it. It's like the pain intensified the pleasure, a balancing thing. But don't worry, I'm not going to be trying it again. I'm not cut out to be a sub indefinitely."

"Amen to that." Chance said almost prayerfully, and it made Blair laugh.

 

Several hours later he was laughing again, hanging out with a couple of guys he knew from the bar in years past. Bikers, both of them, they were as crude and rough as the others, but better educated than most. So a discussion of constitutional theory had developed into an argument over personal freedoms; specifically, the right to fuck sheep, as long as they didn't object.

Laughing loudly at one particularly well-placed comment, Blair missed the man's entrance, but the hush that fell over the room to greet him made him turn toward the door.

Seeing the bright blue eyes staring directly at him, he gave a little half-wave to show no hard feelings, and turned his attention back to the conversation.

"So the fundies can file sexual abuse charges on behalf of the sheep, right? And then collect the damages in the civil suit." He proposed a solution.

"But if you paint the sheep purple the Right won't have anything to do with it. They'll claim the sheep brought it on itself by living an immoral lifestyle." Kyle, the bigger of the two bikers, once a professor of history but now mostly a drunk, snorted back.

"Don't look now, Sandburg, but your toyboy is coming over to see you." The other warned stiffly.

Turning in his seat, Blair watched as the man he'd slept with two weeks previously worked his way across the room toward him. 

"Must want a rematch." Kyle teased. He'd hit on Blair several times, but the student always politely declined, and he couldn't pursue as long as Chance was watching out for him.

"Then he's going to be disappointed." Standing, Blair decided to meet the guy halfway. Heck, maybe he wanted to apologize or something.

They met near the hallway and Blair stepped into it automatically, seeking the small amount of privacy it allowed. From behind the bar, where he was very busy, Chance was throwing them dirty looks.

"Hey, man. You look better tonight." The honest words fell from Blair's lips before he could retrieve them. But they were true. The man had shaved, showing a clean jaw line, classically handsome, and his hair looked freshly washed, flowing onto his shoulders clean and soft. Tonight it was held back by a black sportscap, a plain one that Blair imagined was from his police days.

"I - feel okay." The same harsh voice, quieter now. "I was wondering - how you are." Arms crossed over his chest, looking at the floor and not at him, the guy seemed unhappy, as before.

Blair shrugged.

"I was pretty sore for a week or so, but I'm good now. Not looking for a repeat performance, though, I can tell you that."

"I wouldn't ask." Now the man looked up at him. "I can't stay long tonight, things are out of whack. But I wanted to give you my name, find out yours."

"Really? Oh. Okay. I'm Blair. Blair Sandburg. I teach anthropology at the university." He held out his hand, then withdrew it when there was no motion from the other guy to shake it. Laughing nervously, he shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess shaking hands is kinda redundant at this point."

"I would, but - I don't like to touch other people." The man seemed to be trying to put him at ease. "I'm James – Jim Ellison."

"You were a cop." Blair grinned. "My mother would kill me if she knew I slept with a cop."

"Really? Why?" Real curiosity shown from Ellison's blue eyes, still lively as dulled as they were with drugs.

"She's from the sixties, man." Blair grinned. "Never forgave the pigs for beating her and her friends down when they marched. She'd have a conniption."

"What exactly is that, Chief?" He asked, almost smiling, making Blair shake his head and smile back.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be pretty."

"I bet your mom is pretty. You are." The words seemed to startle the man, Jim, as much as they did Blair. He took a step backwards and the student reached a hand to connect with him, then remembered and drew it back.

"Yeah, I think so. No, she definitely is." He glanced back into the bar. People were throwing sly glances at them, and Chance was snarling at customers. "Hey, why don't you come sit with me and the guys? I'll buy you a drink. Jose isn't here yet, you're gonna have to wait to do your business anyhow."

With a sharp look Jim made it clear that he didn't want to discuss his 'business', but he accepted the offer of a drink.

"Sure. As long as you keep Chance away from me with that baseball bat he's got back there."

"Chance worries, but he knows I'm a big boy." Blair said, starting back to the table, which was against the wall. "I do what I want, there's no one to give me orders."

"You wouldn't have survived long in the military." Jim said softly as he followed.

Getting him settled in a chair against the wall, where no one could touch him, Blair signaled for a beer and then relaxed. Kyle and his friend were staring. 

"So you were military too? That's cool, where did you serve?" 

Looking at the table, talking just barely loud enough for them to hear, Jim spoke.

"My last mission I was stranded in Peru, a helicopter crash. I was there for eighteen months by myself..."

*******

It had been a long time since he just sat with other people, and talked. Blair, that was the guy's name, kept the beers coming and provided a barrier between Jim and the other two men at the table, men who looked at him with equal measures of curiosity and jealousy. It didn't take long to figure out what they were jealous of - they both wanted the young man.

It seemed like he knew that, too, and went out of his way to keep the conversation focused on political issues and current events. 

After telling just the minimum of his story Jim was silent again, having exhausted his resources. He noted that he felt oddly calm in this young man's presence, just as he'd started feeling a little better the day after their back room encounter. That Sunday after Simon left he'd actually managed to get up and get dressed and eat something, and then he'd watched the news on television that night. Not a big deal by normal standards, but to him it had been huge. Always before his painful excursions into the real world in search of the drugs he needed and the contact he craved had left him basically vegetative for days afterwards. But that Sunday he'd felt better, and called Simon to apologize, the first phone call he'd made in nearly a year. 

The captain had been shocked but pleased, Jim had heard it in his voice.

And then the next few days had been like that. He'd even started cutting back on the tranquilizers, thinking that maybe, finally, he was getting better, and the nightmare was going to be over.

But then, just after a week, it had started up again. Colors and lights had leapt up to torment him, sounds had hurt, touch had been agony, and nothing he'd been able to do had stopped it. So he took the drugs, thinking once more of just taking them all and ending it, but he couldn't do that to Simon, his friend, who would surely find his dead body.

Tonight he'd hoped that Jose would have something new for him to try, something powerful and long-lasting. But sitting here beside Blair Sandburg, he felt somehow calm. His senses were still spiking, but it was manageable. It didn't seem possible, but it felt real.

With a sudden, convulsive movement, he reached across the small table and grabbed the man's arm, clutching it tightly.

Blair flinched and then sat very still, taking a deep breath. Kyle was halfway out of his chair, his big beefy hand on the knife sheathed at his waist, when Blair waved him down with his free hand, staring at Jim, who suddenly seemed agitated, even angry.

"What, man? Don't appreciate the finer details of academic life?" He and Kyle had been discussing grading on a curve, a practice they both abhorred at the college level.

"I need you." Jim blurted. He felt the pulse jump in the arm he held, scented the wave of pheromones that rose in the air. 

"I told you, man, I'm not gonna do that again. It was fun, sortof, and interesting, but I don't have time to sit back and recover for a week or two. I've got classes to teach next week."

"You want it." Jim snarled, tugging at his arm even though neither of them had moved. "You wanted it then and you want it now."

"Want it or not I'm saying no." Yanking his arm, Blair couldn't get it free. "Who are you, man, Jekyll and Hyde?"

At the bar Chance was standing still, staring over at them.

"I - I can't explain." Jim tried to fight back the rage, the terror that this need would not be met. "I'll let you run the show this time, I promise. Just - please. Please. Let me touch you. You're the only one I can."

Not quite understanding, Blair was moved by the plea. He stood, letting Jim follow him, waving the others back.

"You try to take over and I scream, then Chance beats the shit out of you, are we clear on that?" Standing beside the table, feeling the fingers on his arm, knowing they were leaving marks, he tried to set the limits he needed. But his cock was already hard, his balls heavy, this man made him want it so bad.

The man nodded, looking torn between his need and his anger. It made Blair wonder which was going to win out. Taking the older man's arm, he led him toward the back.

"You punk kid!" Chance shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. Quiet fell over the bar. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

Turning back to face him, Blair shrugged and answered just as loudly.

"Sorry, Chance. Something I gotta do. You cool with that or do we need to take it someplace else?"

"Your funeral!" The bartender yelled at him, his face tight with anger. 

"Thanks, man!" Giving a jaunty wave, meant sarcastically, Blair turned back to the waiting man, whose hand gripped his arm more tightly than was comfortable.

The room he'd been sleeping in was the same one, of course, that they'd been in before. Stepping inside, Blair closed the door, not locking it, and began to strip.

"Get naked, man, it makes it better." He said roughly, encouraging Ellison.

"Lights off." the words were short and hard, snapped.

"No, I need to see you. Keep an eye on you." Blair replied, now nude, clothes piled carelessly to one side, between the wall and the mattress.

"I can't - with the lights on." Leaning back against the wall, the man seemed to have found his confidence again. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and he was still fully dressed, staring at Blair's nudity with hungry eyes.

"Look, man, nobody ever suggested I use a paper sack, so I don't get how you need it dark. I want the lights on for my own safety, the last time I was pretty torn up. I need to control things this time."

Pushing off the wall and taking a step closer, biceps bulging as he tightened his grip on himself, Jim curled back a lip, snarling as he answered.

"You know damn well you're beautiful, and I know you use it. I can’t do it with the lights, can't concentrate well enough to finish the job."

"You can't come with the lights on?" Curious, Blair asked the question while reaching for Jim with one hand, gingerly stroking his shoulder with the fingertips. The big man shuddered.

"I have to get rid of as much stimulus as I can, or it doesn't work. If I try to be fucking normal about it, I get the worst case of blue balls you've ever seen."

"Well, I wouldn't want to do that to anyone." Blair smiled gently. "Okay, lights out, but I'm still in charge here. You just have to tell me what you need."

"A willing body and enough time." The big man answered, sounding unhappy about it but letting Blair draw him down to the bed. 

"I don't have anywhere to be until Monday, and I'm willing. Okay?" Lying on his side, Blair waited patiently for the man to settle. Ellison shifted, turned, fidgeted and then sat.

"I can't. It's too rough."

"The mattress? It is a bit tough." Blair agreed. "You get used to it. Just try to lie still for a minute and I'll do something about the lights." Rising from the bed, he left the room, walking across the hallway to Chance's office and appropriating several short half-burned candles and a lighter.

When he returned it seemed that his bed partner had fallen asleep, which wasn't exactly flattering, but he crept into the room as quietly as he could anyhow, thinking the guy was unstable enough that the shift from desperately sexual to exhausted probably wasn't that big a leap.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he ran a gentle hand down the man's jaw - and the next thing he knew he was flipped to his back, on the mattress, with Ellison leaning over him and his head ringing from bouncing on the floor.

And Ellison had both of his wrists.

He gagged a little, head swimming, and then managed to speak.

"Let go!" He spat, feeling betrayed. He'd tried to help the guy, come back here with him again against his better judgment...

He saw the battle on the man's face, and breathed a sigh of relief when sanity won.

"Sorry." Jim muttered, turning away and curling into a little ball on the floor.

Wanting to give him a few minutes to regroup, Blair crawled past him to set the candles in the corner furthest away from the bed.

Lighting them, he went and turned off the light before approaching the man on the floor.

Sitting behind him, he nudged with a toe.

The man flinched.

"Yo, turn over, dude. The light is off, you should be okay now."  
"I don't want to hurt you."

"I can handle it. If you'll just let me stay in charge we can do this."

"Why?" Rolling over, wincing as he touched the floor, staring up at the young man that somehow made him feel better just by being there.

Taken aback by the anger of the question, Blair drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them thoughtfully.

"Because you're hurting. Because maybe I can help, or at least make it hurt less for a while." 

He shrugged, the movement making his hair rustle on his shoulders.

"You turn me on. I'm willing to risk a little skin to have you."

The more aggressive words were met with a narrow-eyed glare.

"You're a sucker, aren't you, kid?"

Now the shrug was embarrassed.

"Some people might say so."

The admission brought a sigh from the big man. Moving carefully, as if everything hurt, he crawled to the mattress and lay down, flat on his back. His cock was stiff and angry-looking, dribbling from the tip, standing out from his body as if it didn't want to touch him.

"Let's try this, then." He said, looking more like he was waiting for some bizarre medical procedure than much-wanted sex.

Carefully Blair straddled him, on his knees, not actually touching him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked gently.

"With your mouth closed."

Rolling his eyes, the younger man did, pressing little kisses on Jim's face. The man moaned and reached for him, but restrained himself, putting his hands under his hips.

"Get on with it." He snarled.

"No foreplay, huh? I remember that." Blair shook his head. "You really look uncomfortable there, man."

"It hurts." The man moved beneath him, sharp, pained twitches.

"What hurts?" Leaning down, resting his fingertips on the pale face, Blair spoke as softly and tenderly as he knew how. The concern in his voice seemed to reach Jim, who shuddered and was still, but silent. "What hurts, Jim Ellison?"

"Everything. My eyes, my skin, my lungs...and it never goes away, it never gets better. I'm so tired of living like this."

There was a depth of anguish in those words deeper than anything the young anthropologist had ever heard. It made him want to make the man feel better, to help him.

This was a need his mother had commented on more than once, teaching him that it was a good thing while warning him not to let it lead him where he could be hurt. This time it led him back to his research, but his thoughts were distracted by the power of his arousal, and he reached for the tub of lubricant beside the mattress.

"I think there are some things you and I could talk about." Rising to his knees, he used both hands to prepare himself, taking a few extra minutes to be sure he was open and loose, not wanting to hurt newly-healed tissues.

Hissing air between is teeth, Jim spread his arms out and clutched at the edges of the mattress.

"Hurry. Before it gets too bad and I can't!" He snarled.

"Okay, okay..." Soothing with the gentlest touches he could manage, up and down the straining, sweating chest, Blair set himself above Ellison's cock and carefully began to sit and take it in.

The effort the man beneath was making was obvious on his distorted features. The only thing Blair could read from it was pain, and he stopped halfway down, his own body quietly objecting  
the stretching discomfort it was feeling.

"We don't have to do this. I could blow you or something."

"No. This. Only this works." The words were bitten off, angry-sounding. "Do it."

Reluctantly the younger man continued until he was fully seated on Jim's rigid cock. Then he was still, hands restlessly stroking the air above Jim's chest, unsure if he should touch him.

The sound of loud male laughter rumbled through the hallway and snuck in through the cracked-open door.

After a few moments Blair put one hand on his own hip and used the other to begin slowly stroking himself. It felt really good, he was filled completely inside, stretched to his limit, the pressure making his balls ache, and with his hand on his cock he wanted to move.

"Okay?" He whispered hesitantly.

Jim grunted in reply, and shifted, thrusting his hips upwards roughly but not far. Taking the hint, Blair half-rose on his knees and started fucking himself on that cock.

The pace became quick, the young man moving as fast as his muscles would allow. Under him Jim grunted and jerked with the motions. Blair's hand closed tighter on his cock and he began to descend faster, eyes closed, head dropping back as he let himself go. Searching for that rhythm, the echo of his pounding heart, seeking that perfect place between coming and not.

When he found it he moaned helplessly and jerked his cock wildly, the pressure building behind his balls and low in his belly.

He was close, so close, and he tried to tell Jim that, tried to tell him to go ahead and come...

Opening his eyes, the words died on his tongue when he stared down at the man he was fucking.

Twisting slowly, biceps bulging, Jim was trying to resist what his body was telling him to do. His feet were flat on the mattress, spread wide, back arched and hips in the air, holding Blair up. Agony contorted his face.

Arousal fading, Blair caught his breath and slowed his motions, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He'd just been going on, using this guy's cock and the man didn't seem to be enjoying it at all.

Rocking on his knees, keeping the stimulation up just enough to stay hard, he pressed both hands to Jim's chest and rasped out a question, his voice thick with want.

"What's wrong?"

"Too much." The words were barked, backed by an anger he didn't understand but instinctively feared. The size and strength of the body he was straddling was suddenly too dangerous and he felt like he'd been playing with a match only to see a forest fire blow up around him. 

Quickly, Blair swung a leg over Ellison and pulled himself off that cock, but he was grabbed before he got out of reach, two very strong hands gasping his upper arms painfully.

"Ellison!" He shouted, frightened now. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry!" The man shouted back. "I can't! I have to, but I can't!"

Roughly manhandled to the mattress, face pressed to the blue blanket, knees banging onto the floor, Blair blinked his eyes open and saw a faded bloodstain not two inches from his nose.

Bloodstain. Blood. His blood.

"NO!" He shouted, as loudly as he could, not caring who else heard, wanting someone to hear. "No! Not again! Not like this!"

As he struggled Ellison pressed him down, sprawled on top of him, his body covering Blair's. Squirming, kicking, struggling with all of his unwimplike strength, the student felt his legs being forced apart despite his efforts and did the only thing that seemed logical.

"HELP! CHANCE! HELP!"

A big hand gripped the back of his neck painfully and forced his face down, into the blue, and his cries became screams as terror flooded him.

This wasn't consensual sex gotten out of hand. If this happened it would be rape.

"*CHAAAAAANNNCCEEE!!!!!!" The scream ripped out of him, torn from his belly, which his balls were currently trying to crawl into.

Heavy footsteps pounded in the hall and he resumed struggling, so relieved, so relieved...

Then the light flashed on, blinding him, and he heard Jim's scream, a wordless howl of pain, then the weight was gone and he could breathe, he could move, he was safe.

As soon as his eyes adjusted he staggered to his feet, already reaching for Chance, the meaty sound of fists pounding unprotected flesh leading him to the hallway, where Chance and the bikers were working Ellison over with vengeful pleasure. 

"No, no, stop, Chance, man, that's enough...." Stumbling, legs wobbly with Adrenalin let-down, he pushed the bigger man away from Ellison, taking a blow on his shoulder that almost knocked him over.

"I'm not hurt, I'm okay, quit hitting him already!" He yelled at last.

The bikers backed off so quickly that Ellison fell to the floor, their blows had been the only thing keeping him standing.

Curling into a tight ball, he was silent, only the intermittent gasps for breath proving he was alive.

Looking down - he couldn't bear to look at Chance right now, and the two goons that had joined him, well, he was pretending they didn't even exist - Blair felt tears well in his eyes at what he saw.

A man. A man that he knew instinctively had once been tall and proud and strong.

Curled on the filthy floor in the back hallway seedy bar, dirt and blood and who-knows-what-else smearing his fine, pale skin.

What had brought him so low?

Chance patted his shoulder. 

"I'm gonna put him in a cab and then you and I are gonna talk about this death wish of yours."

The drawl was exaggerated, but his dark eyes were blank and his face tight. Blair knew that look well enough to know he was pissed, but had never had it directed at himself before.

"I made a choice, man, and it turned out wrong. Thanks for bailing me out, but he needs more than a cab." 

He bent over, tugging at Ellison's shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, man, can you hear me?'

A low moan passed between clenched teeth.

"Hey, whatchu guys doin'?" A drunken voice warbled down the hall from the bar and Blair was aware, suddenly, of the fact that he was nude, and Jim as well.

"Call a cab, but I'm taking him home." He told Chance, ducking into the room to dress. Throwing the blanket into the hallway, he kept talking, the shirt over his head briefly muffling his words. "I haven't been paying attention here, I think I know what's going on here...should have seen it earlier, but I pretty much had the data I needed so I wasn't really looking anymore..." 

"Looking for what? Chance reluctantly covered Ellison with the blanket.

Surfacing from his clothing, Blair shook his head, hair falling around his face, tangled.

"It's not important. Look, you know I love you and all, man, but there's something going on here you don't understand." Crouching beside the motionless man, Blair frowned. "I don't know where he lives, though, and he's not up to telling me."

"He always comes in a cab." Chance volunteered. "Checker company. They'll know where. I'll call 'em." Turning, he left and Blair knew that was the last time they were going to talk about it.

Soon after Chance sent one of the kitchen boys back to tell him that the cab was there. Blair had spent the time wrestling clothing onto Ellison's uncooperative form. It took him and both bikers to carry Jim out and by then Blair was afraid he needed to be taking him to the hospital instead of home, wherever that was. But the cabby, a tall, too-thin guy called Mateo saw them coming and opened the rear door.

"He at it again?" His grin was overly friendly. "At least once a month I pick him up from a dive like this and haul his ass home."

"Then you know where he lives?" Blair said thankfully, getting into the front and leaving the cramped back seat to Jim.

"Hell yeah. First time he ever took anybody with him, though." He eyed Blair with suspicion. "You sure he wants you going with him?"

"Yeah, man." Giving him his second-best leer, Blair felt slightly ashamed, but persevered. "We didn't get time to finish before his shit kicked in, y'know? And I'm lookin' forward to takin' him on again."

With a grimace the cab driver drove.

"Whatever floats your boat."

 

When they pulled up in front of the pleasant building Blair was surprised.  
"Does he work here or something? He's the maintenance guy?"

"No." Mateo snorted, getting out and going around to help pull Jim out. Between them they could just manage to keep him upright enough to move forward. The fact that he did made Blair think he was more aware than it seemed. "His place is on the top floor - nice place, too, but he keeps it pretty bare."

Panting, Blair sighed with relief when the elevator arrived. 

"You've been in there?" He let his doubt show. Jim seemed awfully paranoid to be letting cab drivers into his home.

"Yeah. Carried him in a few times before. Usually he can make it, but he's done this sortof unconscious thing a few times, too. The key's over the door."

It was hard, but eventually they got to the door that Mateo said was Jim's, and the key was where he said it was. Once inside he helped Blair lay the man on the big sofa and said he'd drop by the next day to pick up his money. They'd done it that way before.

The he left, with more calls to pickup and money to make, and Blair was alone in Jim's home. Well, not exactly alone, Jim was there with him, but, considering his current condition, essentially alone.

With an idea in his mind the young scientist searched the apartment, which he would call a loft. It was really nice, plenty big for two people and really big for just one. The balcony doors were cracked open, to let fresh air in. 

Finding the futon covered in silk sheets was a clue, as were the bathroom supplies. Digging in his backpack, Blair found a fresh yellow legal and began to take copious notes. There was also a supply of illegal drugs in the nightstand beside the bed, but he ignored them. The refrigerator yielded juice, no beer, and displayed what seemed to be a weeks' worth of commercial pre-packaged frozen meals.

"Yech." Going to sit in the yellow leather armchair, Blair watched Jim while he scribbled a few preliminary notes. If he had found what he thought he'd found, his dissertation was going to blow the anthropological community away and the chance of getting those three little letters after his name were much, much better than they would have been with only the one tribal Sentinel he had found. Speaking softly to Jim while he wrote, he didn't notice when the pale blue eyes cracked open nearly three hours later.

"It's too bad I was out of the country, maybe we could have stopped this before it got so bad. Not that I really know if I would have heard of you, but fate works in mysterious ways, and things have a way of getting around, especially if you're looking for them..." Continuing the monologue in his head, he bent it to write, drawing a quick graph that could be filled in later when he had more information on the subject, only two arms of it currently labeled.

"You." The raw, hoarse voice startled him, made him jump.

"Jim?" Off the couch and on his knees faster than it took to think it, he hovered near the older man but didn't reach to touch him. "How are you? The guys worked you over pretty good, I'm sorry I didn't stop them sooner..."

"Who? Did what?" The only things Ellison was moving were his eyes, which followed Blair's, and his mouth.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Gripping the edge of the cushion in both hands, Blair leaned a little closer.

"Light. Too much light. It hurt."

"You don't remember turning on me during sex?"

"Can't say I didn't warn you, Chief." Slowly, in obvious pain, he pushed himself up on the couch while Blair watched. "I remember. But I don't remember having somebody beat the shit out of me."

"That's my fault." Blair sighed, heaving himself to the couch as well, hands coming up to rub at his face. "I couldn't stop you, so I called for help. Chance kinda flipped out."

"What is he, an old boyfriend?" Jim snapped testily. "You might be better off not picking men up in front of him. Safer for them too."

"It's not like that.' Blair protested, and then closed his mouth to think. Why was he being defensive? Jim had hurt him, not the other way around. And Blair had been really nice, getting him here to safety and all. With that in mind he spoke again, making a 180 on the conversational highway. "Tell me what's going on with you?"

"Why? You're just a punk kid who likes to get fucked. That doesn't give you the right to pry into my life. I should call the cops on you, you've been into my stuff." Jim snarled, eyes on the legal pad Blair had left on the yellow chair.

"You don't have to tell me." Blair stared at him, unmoved by the anger. "I bet I can guess. Tastes, sounds, lights, colors, they all seem to be attacking you, don't they. I used to study this, study people with abilities like yours. I've never seen anyone who had it so strongly, but I can still recognize it. How many senses are heightened, Jim?"

"Get out of my house!" The roar was met with a grimace that was quickly replaced with a serene smile.

"I doubt you could even find the phone, man, much less talk on it. Just settle down and tell me what's happening - I'm betting I can help."

The reply was a low growl and a dirty look.

"Okay, fine." Blair shook his head. "You want to spend the rest of your life popping 'ludes to dull your senses - and whatever else is in that bag upstairs, fine. But I gotta tell you, there's no telling how long that life's gonna last. You've been zoning out all over the place, haven't you?"

"Why are you still here?" Wincing, panting, the older man was slowly pushing himself to a sitting position. The sheet slipped and he realized he was nude, catching it with both hands and holding it bunched at his waist to cover himself.

"Nothing there I haven't seen before." Blair spared a grin for that. "Richard Burton - the explorer, not the actor - said that Sentinels zone when they received too much stimulus for their senses to process. That's why ancient Sentinels had Guides around to help them. They weren't always called that, but that's the easiest way to talk about it." Jumping up, he headed for the kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I'll be right back."

Propping himself against the wall, Ellison tried to get his breathing under control. He needed to get this little freak out of his home and then he could dose up and rest. He needed to rest. His head was pounding, his skin itched and breathing made his lungs ache. The kid was back ten minutes later with juice and toast, not his favorite things these days. He shook his head.

"I need the filtered water and some vitamins." He snarled when Blair sat beside him, on the floor.

"I diluted this with the water." Blair said, holding out a squeeze bottle of juice. "Water alone isn't going to give you anything you need, this has sugars and vitamins."

"I can't drink it." Jim snarled, pulling away as the bottle was brought closer. "It burns my mouth."

"Let me try something." The younger man suddenly loomed over him, on his knees and leaning in, one hand on the wall beside Jim's head. "You can't go on living this way, what's it gonna hurt to try?" He asked as Jim turned his head away, eyes closing.

"I just want to be left alone."

"So you can crawl into a hole until you die?" Blair shook his head, tendrils of hair hitting Jim's face, stinging like whips. "I’m not going to let you do that. You've been doing it too long already. How long have you been living like this?"

"It's none of your business!" Jim shouted, and then curled forward, ears ringing with pain, arms clenched around his head. He moaned, eyes squeezed shut.

The next sensation he felt was a gentle one. Soft, warm lips gently traveled the planes of his face, occasionally brushing a forearm, and moist air brushed his skin as Blair breathed through his nose, tenderly scattering dry kisses over his skin.

"Shh." He shushed, touching Jim only with his lips and breath. "Shh. See, this doesn't hurt....concentrate on my voice, feel the way I touch you...if you can focus on this and screen everything else out then you'll be okay."

It did feel nice. The soft warmth, slightly scratchy, seemed alive as it touched him, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, chin...almost unwillingly his arms relaxed and his curl eased and he opened his eyes to find himself held in strong arms, Blair leaning over him, smiling gently.

"Better?" 

Jim nodded, afraid to speak. A quiet thumping filled his ears, but it wasn't taking over, he was just - hearing it.

A heartbeat. This man's heartbeat.

"Let's try some juice, okay?" Holding up the squeeze bottle, Blair questioned with his eyebrows.

The liquid in the clear plastic bottle was orange and Jim flinched inwardly - orange juice was the worst, the acid burning into his tongue as if it were sulfuric instead of citrus. But he nodded and opened his mouth obediently when Blair touched his chin, and closed his eyes, prepared to gag, when the bottle came closer and a few drops dribbled in.

He licked his lips.

It didn't burn.

He opened his eyes and stared.

It didn't burn!

"More?" He gasped, reaching for the bottle.

"Hang on, not too much." Blair warned, evading his efforts to grab it. "Just a little at a time. Don't overdo it." He held the bottle out of reach until Jim nodded, then gave it to him. 

Lying in Blair's lap, sucking slowly on the squeeze bottle, Jim had a brief vision of how ridiculous he must look. Like a giant overgrown infant, nude and vulnerable, being fed by this man. Cared for by him.

But it didn't feel wrong. It felt like he an infant, in many ways, and he was being reborn, here, in this man's embrace. Even the simple act of drinking juice had become such an effort that he had all but given it up, pouring out most of what Simon brought him so the captain wouldn't know and take further action. Of course Jim had known that Simon, his captain and friend, had been struggling with the concept of having him admitted to some psychiatric hospital, where he would get better care, but Jim had been  
hoping he would never feel as if it was really necessary as long as Jim was eating and taking care of basic functions. So he'd hid it when he wasn't able to eat or drink, hoping vainly that the weight loss would go unnoticed.

Blair held him and crooned to him, his large, strong hands touching Jim's body at random, stroking and petting, soothing him. He'd never been touched that way before, at least not since he was a child and his mother had left him.

And somehow it seemed okay to lie there and be held, greedily soaking up the comfort that touch provided, not caring why it felt so good or how.  
For once he was just willing to accept it on faith.

When the juice was half gone Blair took the bottle and gave him half a piece of dry toast.

"Just something for your stomach to work on." He smiled gently. "Chew slowly, swallow...the usual stuff. You're going to be okay, you know. I'll take care of you."

With a partially chewed bite in his mouth Jim paused.

"Why? I hurt you."

"Because I don't think there's anybody else who can." The man shrugged. "I've got hundreds of documented cases of people with one or two enhanced senses, but never anyone with all of them. For that research you're like the Holy Grail, man."

Jim chewed, and swallowed.

"Does that mean you'll stay here with me?"

"As long as you need me too. I'm pretty sure we can get you back online in a few days. Maybe a week or two - I'll have to do some tests and you'll have to learn some exercises -"

"Tests?" Though he didn't finish the thought aloud, he knew the question was visible on his face. What kind of tests?

"Just to establish your baseline." Blair grinned. "Don't be so paranoid, man. Look, I help you get your senses under control and you let me write about you for my dissertation, okay?"

"Anonymously, sure." Swallowing another bite - and it didn't scratch or hurt going down! - Jim nodded. "Can I have some more juice?"

"Anything you want, man." Blair's smile was pure happiness as he offered the bottle.

Eventually he laid Jim back down and took off his own shoes and jeans and sweater and lay down beside him, in his boxers and a t-shirt, and cuddled the larger man close and Jim slipped into sleep with amazing ease, no drugs in his system and actual food in his belly.

Rebirth, indeed.

*******

Waking the next day, Blair shifted in the arms that held him almost too tightly. He'd slept  
well, which vaguely surprised him, he'd expected to have to deal with at least one Ellison-induced  
crisis during the night, but the other man seemed to have rested as well as Blair had.

With a more determined effort he managed to get free of the clinging arms, and then he sat up, and stretched, and looked around.

The room was the same, nothing had changed, but the air felt lighter somehow. As if some dark spirit had withdrawn from it.

Ellison turned over, made a grunting noise, and woke, reaching for him. As soon as his eyes opened all the way he stopped, staring at his own hands as if he didn't know what they were doing.

"Morning, Jim." With a smile Blair moved back, reaching for him, but the big man shuddered, and pushed him away, not gently. "What's wrong now?" Trying to hide the long- suffering tone, the student simply sat still and waited.

"You're still here."

"So? You thought I was gonna bail on you?"

"Making yourself at home, huh?" There was a sneer on Jim's face and Blair had to fight down his anger. Scared, he told himself. He's just scared.

"I'm here to take care of you, man. As soon as you're better I can be out the door."

"I need a fix." Rolling to his feet, Jim stood, and though he swayed he did not fall.

"No way!" Jumping in front of him, Blair threw his arms wide and got in the way. "No more drugs, man, they just make you worse. As long as I'm here you won't need them!" 

"How can I trust that?!" Suddenly angry, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders and shoving him up against the nearest wall, Jim yelled at him. "How do I know that? Just because you say it's so doesn't mean I can trust it!"  
"Never mind what I say, Ellison, listen to your body!" Shouting back, Blair spread his hands wide in a gesture of peace, though he knew his anger showed. "Can you see today?! Can you hear?! What do you feel?!!"

He was dropped so abruptly that he barely had time to get his balance before he toppled over. With a low groan of despair, Jim turned away and pressed his own face to the wall, arms over his head. He stayed that way for long moments, until Blair felt that he should do something.

"Look, man. Jim. We can fix this. You're going to be a great Sentinel, and a better cop than you ever were. I don't think it will even take that long. But if you're afraid to crawl out of this nice dark nest you've built for yourself, you need to think about that. I'm going to go fix you some breakfast. I'll call you when it's ready."

There was no answer but the shift of the broad shoulders.

In the kitchen, fixing weak tea and dry toast. Hoping Jim could eat it and not cringe from the texture or taste. It was just done when he heard the footsteps behind him, and he kept himself from turning around by sheer will alone.

"Look, kid. I know you're trying to help. You are helping. It just pisses me off, that I would need it." There was an apology lurking in that low, quiet voice.

"It's okay to be pissed." Facing him, Blair dried his hands on a dishtowel. "Your whole world turned on its end and you don't know why and I can't give you an explanation much above something you'd hear on the Xfiles. Just don't take it out on me, right? I didn't do it."

Pulling a chair back from the table, he motioned to Jim to sit, and, when he did so, Blair sat right beside him, shoulders and legs touching, and carefully walked him through the sparse meal.

"Soon you'll be eating steak again." He grinned.

"Not soon enough." Jim grumbled, then yawned. "Damn, why am I so tired?" 

"You're playing catch-up on months of bad sleep." Blair provided. "You go lie down, I'll come in and read, okay?" 

"You don't mind?" Jim asked, the blue eyes still mildly suspicious.

"Nah. I read all the time, might as well do it with you."

"Thanks." The word came out flat, sounding as if they had never been used before. Not by  
this man.

The afternoon was spent in quiet, relaxing slumber, when they weren't dozing, and Blair swore to himself he could actually see the strength returning to the man he was helping.

 

"Easy there." Stepping into the shower stall, the water already warm, Jim stumbled as it hit him, his skin spiking the pleasant sensation into something more like pain.

"Shit." He hissed. "It hurts. This isn't going to work, Sandburg."

With gentle hands the younger man urged him all the way in. He was wet and warm and scent rolled off him in waves, making Jim dizzy and needy. He reached for him, hands clutching tightly, realizing he was being too rough but unable to stop. Finally he was under the spray and Blair was grasped tightly to his front, his arms wrapped around the younger man hard, crushing the breath from him. But Blair withstood it, hands caressing the straining arms gently, breathing shallowly, murmuring quietly.

"It's okay, take it easy, I'm not going anywhere..."

"Too much." Jim moaned, curling over him.

"I got you." Trying to turn in those arms Blair found himself held in place, and unable to do much. He tilted his head back, offering his mouth to the moaning man. "Jim, Jim, come on man, kiss me - use me to distract yourself."

It didn't take any more urging than that. Jim's mouth covered his and Jim's hands tightened further, bruising, and suddenly the water didn't matter at all - all the Sentinel could feel was the warm willing weight in his arms.

"Please." He gasped, trying to bend Blair over his arm while still kissing him, his body sending conflicting messages. "Please."

"Easy." Blair muttered, struggling now to get free, needing to control this encounter. "Jim, ease off, I'll give you what you want, just give me a minute..."

Twisting with more purpose, made slippery by the water, he managed to get loose enough to grab the special unscented shower gel and dump some into his own hand. Bracing himself on the wall with the other hand, the bottle dropping to the floor, he started to open himself quickly, using as much of the slimy stuff as he could, trying to get it into his passage before Jim came for him.

Then Jim's hands were with his own and the older man was helping, taking an active part in this, and Blair bit his lip even as he smiled, feeling the flush or arousal wash through him, totally turned on by the way Jim's hands tangled with his, Jim's finger reaching deep inside him along with two of his own.

"Enough?" The bigger man gasped, pulling his hands away and reaching for Blair's hips.

"Yeah, go 'head." Bending over further, Blair faced the wall and braced himself on it. He was still sore from last night, but he wouldn't reject this man for anything right now. As long as he gave him what he needed Jim would be okay.

It occurred to him, as he held his breath through a quick, painful entry, stomach muscles clenched tight in protest, that this wasn't the healthiest attitude he could have and that perhaps he needed to talk to somebody about the martyr complex he seemed to be developing....

Fortunately Jim was primed and it only took a few deep thrusts before he came, his come scalding in Blair's tender ass. Gasping for breath he leaned on the wall over the smaller man, kissing his neck and shoulders, eyes closed, panting.

"You okay?" He asked at last, straightening. His cock pulled free and Blair smothered a  
moan of pain.

"I will be." Turning around, he bent over, hands searching for the lost soap.

"You didn't come." Now the big man sounded concerned.

"It's okay. A little fast for me." Hand closing on it, Blair shuddered when Jim's hand traced  
down the crease of his ass. "No, man, not again. Give me a few hours, okay?"

"You're sore." Jim sounded sad, and regretful. "I'm sorry. I thought you were ready."

"As ready as I could be, after last ni- Jim!" Cut off mid-sentence, Blair yelped when the bigger man went to his knees and sucked Blair's soft cock into his mouth. His hands went automatically to the short-cropped hair, clutching at Jim's head. "What - do you wanna do that, man?"

"Not bad." Releasing his cock, Jim nuzzled at the crease of his thighs. "You smell good. I  
can taste the minerals in the water..."

"Really?" Blair gasped, trying to control himself. "Can you - um - name them?"

"Maybe later." A dark chuckle ran through Blair's trembling frame as Jim mouthed his balls. "You taste better right now."

"Aw, God, Jim..." Panting, Blair let himself lean back against the shower-stall wall, knees  
bending. Jim's hands caressed and petted his sore butt. "That feels so good."

"Then you'll like this." Lifting his head Jim licked at Blair's cock, which was hardening  
rapidly, and the younger man moaned approval. Then Jim sucked it in as far as he could and  
caressed it with his tongue.

Experimentally Blair allowed himself to thrust shallowly. Jim nodded a little, encouraging him, one hand going to Blair's, both of which were in his short hair, and Blair understood. He used his hands to guide Jim, to control the depth and pressure as he slowly fucked the other man's mouth, the heat and suction too pleasurable to describe. He couldn't keep his mouth shut, words fell out between moans, random....

"Can't believe - oh, lord, that feels great - so hot - harder, suck me harder...thank you, Jim,  
oh god..."

Briefly wondering if the man in the living room could hear him, Blair just as quickly decided that he didn't care. His balls were drawing up, he was getting close - usually he liked a finger in his ass at this point, sparking the pleasure, but Jim was sensitive enough to realize that wouldn't be a good thing this time, and Blair was trying to warn him, not knowing if ultrasensitive tatsebuds were up to swallowing bitter semen.

"Almost there, Jim - pull back, man, unless you wanna..." His hips jerked helplessly and his hands tightened in Jim's hair, pulling him closer even as his mind ordered him to push him away, and then he was coming, in long, heavy pulses, the relief so great that he sagged against the wall, Jim's arms catching him around the waist and keeping him upright.

The older man kissed his belly tenderly as he gasped his way to recovery, and then, finally, stood, reaching for the shower gel and lathering his hands.

"I love the way it moves in your hair." He whispered to Blair as he washed the younger man's chest and belly. 

"It's not bothering you? Not overwhelming?" Staying still, one hand on the tiled wall to support himself, Blair watched, speaking quietly, pitching his voice just over the sound of the water.

"All I can feel is you, all I can hear is your heart." Jim flashed a grin, but Blair frowned.

"You mean you've blocked everything else out?"

"No - I can hear it, feel it, but it's background, like it should be. Like it used to be." Slipping lower, Jim used just the tips of his fingers to wash the crease of Blair's ass, causing no more pain than a breath of air on the raw skin, and Blair sighed and relaxed. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Jim said softly. "I won't do it again."

"Take what you need from me." The quiet words were firm. "It may sound strange, but I think we were meant to meet, Jim. I feel almost as if this is what I'm meant to be doing."

"Taking care of me and my craziness?" Jim snorted. "Not much of a destiny there, kid." He used his hands to rinse the stocky body and then pulled him into a warm, gentle hug.

"You're getting kinda weird on me here, Jim. All of a sudden you want me here, and you're acting like we've been lovers forever, that we're not just a couple of guys who met in a bar." Blair mumbled, sinking into the embrace, soaking up the comfort. 

"We aren't just a couple of guys who met in bar, Sandburg." Jim's voice rumbled, Blair's head pressed to his chest. "I know I was fighting it, but I feel so much better that I can't anymore." Using both hands, he pushed Blair away from the hug and stared down at him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "I don't love you - but I know that if I let myself I can. And I want to. You need to know that I can be a real asshole to live with. But what you've done for me, what you do for me, it makes me whole, in a way I can't explain."

"Man." Heaving a sigh, Blair stroked Jim's water-slicked chest. "What am I supposed to say to that? I'm not picnic either, but ever since I first saw you I knew I'm supposed to be with you. I wouldn't know if it was love, I've never felt this for anyone. I just want to help you, and helping you makes me feel really, really good."

Their eyes met, and Blair shivered as he understood the combination of lust and need in Jim's.

"So you'll stay." It was a statement, not a question, so Blair didn't bother to answer.

There would be a lot of things to work out. But at least he wouldn't need to find an apartment now.

Although they had slept or rested most of the day, after the exertion of bathing they were ready to rest again.

"Think you can make the stairs?" Blair asked when they stepped out of the shower, damp.

"Maybe." Jim sounded doubtful. "The bed hurts, though."

"It will be better with me in it." Feeling sure of himself - even a little cocky - the younger man led him up the stairs. The bed was made with more silk sheets, and the colors were calm and soothing, and they snuggled up together beneath a warm comforter and quickly fell into shared deep sleep.

*******

A strong, harsh hand closed over Blair's shoulder, startling him from the warm depths his mind  
was cruising, and the voice in his ear sounded very angry.

"Who the hell are you?" Half-rolling to his back, one arm still around Jim's waist, he stared up at the rather large black man that straddled the futon. Wearing nice jeans and a warm sweater, a gun hanging heavy in a holster at his hip, he looked threatening but somehow official.

"Shh." The urge to grin passed as soon as it occurred, but it did see funny to him that he was protecting Jim already, as if he'd been born to it. "He needs his rest."

"I asked who you are." Hissed, angry.

Climbing to his feet, disregarding his nudity, Blair leaned to kiss Jim's forehead and stroke his neck when the big man stirred.

"Shh, s'okay, sleep. I'll be back in a minute..."

"Like hell you will." Grabbing him by the arm The threatening man pulled him into the living room roughly. "Are you another of those prostitutes he keeps finding? I'll pay you and you'll get out and be glad I didn't arrest your ass."

"Chill. Geez, which branch of the military spawned you?" Muttering to himself, Blair went to his pack, which was still in the kitchen, feeling his cock swinging against his leg but refusing to be intimidated into dressing. "I'm not a rent boy, man. I'm a teaching assistant at Rainier. If you'll just hang on a minute I'll show you my ID."

"You might be a student, but that doesn't prove you're not scamming here." The man followed him.

"And what're you, his babysitter? Doin' a piss-poor job of it if ya are." Blair snapped back, digging out his wallet and handing over his school identification card, the one with last year's picture.

"Hair's shorter." The man commented, staring from it to him and back again.

"I let it grow." Leaning one hip on the counter Blair crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Where did you meet Jim?"

"At a club. It took me a couple of encounters, but I finally twigged and saw what was going on with him."

"He has post-traumatic stress syndrome." Dropping the ID on the counter than man made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Blair snorted loudly.

"Yeah, right. That's what they're calling it, huh? Typical western medicine - can't explain it so they give it a name and send you home." Stepping lightly, he went around the kitchen island and back into the room, waving a hand at the man. "Let me grab some pants, willya? Unless you're getting off on this...."

"Look, you little pervert..." The man followed again, but bit his words off when Blair went back into the little bedroom and grabbed his jeans, shuffling out while pulling them on, using one hand to shield his genitals while he zipped, not at all shy about touching himself with this audience.

"Little I might be, man, but I'm no more perverted than the next guy." Without anger he retorted. "Are you here for any special reason? It took me a while to get him to sleep, I'm not going to let you wake him up.

"I'm Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade PD." The man growled low, looking away while  
the zipping was accomplished. "I'm his boss. It's my responsibility to check on him - I buy his  
food, pay his bills."

"Well, cool, then, you're off the hook." Blair grinned wryly. "I can handle it from here on out."

His words angered the man further and he grabbed him by the shirt front, shoving him back against the living room wall.

"Listen, I'm not leaving my best friend in the hands of any neo-hippie witch-doctor punk. Get your stuff and get out of here before I arrest you for trespassing."

Raising both hands by his face Blair snarled back, finally angry enough to let it show.

"Look, man, you don't want to do this. I'm the only one who can help your friend, you throw me out and it's like you're throwing him away!"

"Let him go!"

Banks' hands eased and Blair slid down the wall until his feet touched the ground again and he tried to breathe evenly.

Standing in the doorway of the little bedroom, Jim was using one hand to prop himself up, but he looked awake, if tired.

"Damn, I didn't want to wake you." Blair sputtered, ducking past Banks to reach Jim, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him to the table. "How you feeling? You hungry? Think you could eat?"

"I could try." Unawares Jim let his eyes linger on the young man that had presented himself as Jim's savior. Behind them Banks stared, mouth open to release a protest that didn't come.

He watched as the scruffy student cooked up some eggs and toast and made some juice, diluting it with distilled water, and calmly talked Jim through the meal, keeping him focused, on track, not letting up until all of the food was gone. It took a while, thirty minutes or more, but neither of them looked at him once. Even when he went over and sat on the couch, they acted as if he wasn't even there.

Until the last bite was gone and Blair was beaming at Jim, clearing the dishes away.

"That was great, man, you're adapting way fast. A few more days and you'll have enough control to do this without me around."

"You're not going anywhere." Jim's voice was angry and worried. "Right? Right?"

"Right. At least, not until classes start. I do have a job, man, I won't be able to stay with you twenty-four-seven. But we'll get you under control so by then you can get a life of your own."

He was doing the dishes, the low rumble of his voice soothing Jim over the fall of running water, and Simon went to the table, blinking in surprise when Jim waved a hand at him.

"Jim?" He sat, staring.

"Hi, Simon. Sorry about that earlier. For some reason I feel rather protective of the kid."

"Good!" Blair's comment was backed with laughter as he dried.

"Who is he? Where did you meet him? It's not like you to just let some stranger into your life, Ellison."

"He's not a stranger, sir." Jim smiled; it was more of a baring of teeth.. "He's Blair."

"That doesn't tell me a lot." The big man grumbled.

Coming around the table the younger man stood behind Jim and hung his arms loosely over the broad shoulders.

"Look, why don't you hang around. I'm going to get him cleaned up and then you two can do some male bonding." Leaning further, he tilted his head to look at Jim's face. "If that's okay with you."

"Cleaned up? We washed yesterday, remember?"

"Most people bathe daily when the facilities exist." Pressing his forehead to Jim's, Blair grinned. "And after yesterday you could definitely use one."

"Are you saying I stink, Sandburg?" Banks' eyes widened as he saw Jim grin, the first happy  
expression he'd seen on the man's face in literally months.

"You are definitely a stinker." The younger man grinned back and the captain leaned back.

They were a couple. If they weren't in love already they would be soon....

Jim Ellison, in love with a man. A scruffy, long-haired academic who no doubt believed in free love and wheat germ.

He would have said something, but what was there to say? Hey, Jim, you're straight? After these past months he knew better than that....

Now Jim was looking at his lap, one hand sneaking up to hold one of the student's, which Banks noted were large and square, very masculine, even a bit hairy on the backs.

"Showering is hard - " he began, closing his eyes. "The water, and everything..."

"But I'll be there with you." Blair said softly, and Banks looked away. "You'll have me to focus on, you'll be okay."

He didn't sound completely sure of that.

Banks stood.

"I'm not leaving you alone here with him, Jim." He said sternly. "We don't know anything about him."

"I know his heartbeat helps me sleep." Standing as well, Jim leaned on the smaller man for support. 

Banks frowned.

"He could clean you out and you wouldn't know it."

"As if." The student snorted again, slipping an arm around Jim's waist again. "C'mon, Jim, let's get you dressed. See if you can handle regular clothes for the whole day." He led the bigger man back upstairs while the policeman glared at them both.

 

While they dressed - he could hear the little guy chatting quietly, crooning to Jim, and it bothered him in ways he couldn't define - Simon spent a few minutes on the phone, chatting with a couple of acquaintances who had connections to the University, and he wasn't exactly pleased with what he learned. Blair Sandburg was who and what he said he was. Possibly more, certainly not less. There were good things said about him; he was a conscientious teacher who cared about his students and worked hard with them. He had some fringe theories and his doctoral subject was pretty much considered a joke, but people in power made allowances because of his other qualities. Basically he was considered a good guy. Gregarious, but a loner at heart. A wanderer. 

Hanging up the phone the captain felt guilty. He should be happy for Jim, right? This Sandburg guy might actually know what he was doing. But everything had changed overnight and it seemed to him that the recovery was coming too quickly and that there was bound to be some backlash. A relapse, maybe.

Thinking that over, the big man made his way to the balcony, where he lit a cigar and smoked, looking out over the city. He was worried, and frustrated, and he simply couldn't understand what he'd seen this morning.

Sure, he'd known about the prostitutes. He'd known when Jim switched to the guys instead of the girls, and he'd listened to Jim's vague, drug-distorted explanation of why the guys were better. But not once in the months that Jim had been suffering had he seen him demonstrate affection for anyone. Shit, he hadn't seen him eat a full meal in months.

And here was this kid....

 

"You tired, man? Think a nap would be good? It would be better if you could stay up, maybe go to bed early, try to get back onto a normal schedule. I bet we can get you back into the world in a couple of weeks." Blair was chattering cheerfully to Jim as they came back downstairs, Jim looking more relaxed and together than Simon remembered seeing him in months.

He looked like his old self - almost. Pale and thin and there were still circles under his eyes, but those eyes were bright and aware and taking in everything about the young man that stood by his side.

"I think I'll stay up for a while, Sandburg." He replied, tangling his hand in the wet curly hair and tugging at it, making the younger man grimace.

"First thing we're gonna do is establish some house rules." Blair used both of his hands to firmly remove Jim's from his hair. "The hair is not a handle. Except maybe, well, at certain times.."

"Jim." Simon spoke from the balcony, dropping his cigar and crushing it out on the tile before stepping back into the loft. "We need to talk."

"Let me get dressed, Simon." 

"Mr. Sandburg, why don't you run some errands or something?" Banks said politely.

"Hey, Simon - this is his place, too, now. I'm not going to let you just kick him out. Whatever you've got to say to me you can say in front of Blair."

With his hands on his hips Banks scowled.

"But he's what I want to talk to you about."

"Shit, Simon, last week I couldn't even wear clothes for more than an hour without going nuts. He's helping me!" Frustrated, Jim gestured at his body, warmly dressed, and glared at his boss and best friend. 

"I've been talking to you naked for months now, in case you hadn't noticed!" Simon barked and Jim pursed his lips. "I've been taking care of you, feeding you, paying your bills, making sure you got your disability - because you couldn't!"

"And I appreciate that, Simon, I really do. I never meant to take so much of your time. But now I'm better and you can have your life back."

"So what happens when he leaves? He's just a kid, Jim, he just got back from an expedition, he's not the kind of man to stick around."

"I'll stay as long as he needs me." Blair stepped in front of Jim and spoke fiercely. "I can help him, get him back into the world, and then he won't need me and he'll have a life. What, man, you jealous or something?" 

"No, I'm dreading the day you bail and he falls apart again!" Simon shouted, and Jim was in front of Blair, taking a defensive stance, before the echoes fell silent.

"You don't know me, man." Blair said softly, looking around Jim's larger body, sighing. 

"It's not up to you, Simon." Jim said, just as softly. "I know it seems strange to you, but he's what I need. And I trust him. For him to come back, for him to help me, after what I did to him... I trust him."

"What did you do to him?" Simon asked suspiciously.

"It's over." Blair snapped. "Over and done with. Nothing to worry about."

"He'll stay." Jim said, the tome colored with love. "He'll fix me."

"You'll fix yourself." With a hand on Jim's shoulder Blair moved to stand beside him, pressed close. 

"We'll do it together." Jim turned and gave him a quick, light kiss.

"And what about me?" Simon asked, sounding lost. "Where do I fit into this? I can't just stop worrying and fade back into the woodwork, Jim. I've got too much invested in you. You're my best friend."

"And I always will be." Leaving Blair, ignoring the fact that he was wearing only a towel around his hips, a towel that was considering abandoning him, Jim went to his friend and touched his shoulder. "You kept me alive, Simon. I would have given up months ago without your support. You kept me alive long enough to find him and I believe there was a reason for that."

"Like what?" Gruffly asked.

"So I can repay you, of course. I always pay my debts." Jim grinned and Simon took his hand, clasped it as he would a brother's.

"Come back to work for me. That will be payment enough."

"Give me a couple of weeks, and I will." Jim squeezed back.

"He's a walking crime lab with organic forensic equipment, man, the bad guys won't know what hit 'em!" Blair exclaimed behind them. 

"It will be different now, Simon." Jim nodded toward Blair, who was grinning brightly. "Harder."

"If we get you back, Jim, I don't care." Simon said firmly. "There are regulations to protect you, and they'll be enforced."

"Jim." Leaning into his side, Blair wrapped an arm around his waist. "Why don't we get dressed, and then we can order pizza and I'll go grab a twelve-pack and we'll watch the Jags play."

"Like a regular Sunday afternoon?" Jim opened his mouth and laughed. "I would love it. Simon?"

"Count me in - only no pepperoni on that pizza, it gives me heartburn..."

Headed for the bedroom, where his pack lay, and his clean clothes, Blair spoke over his shoulder. "I got the perfect thing for that, man, this apothecary I know over on 45th street makes this great herbal remedy, you just swallow a bit of it before you eat.." He went inside and Jim stood for a moment, looking at Simon with clear, shining eyes.

"I owe you a lot more than thanks." He said quietly.

"You don't owe me anything." Simon said gruffly, with a shake of his head. "You would have done the same for me."

"Yeah." Jim sounded thoughtful. "I would have. But I hope I don't ever have to."

Remembering the shambling wreck of a man that he'd found only a few days before, Simon couldn't help but agree.

"Me too, Jim." Then he chuckled, and made a disgusted sound. "Now go get some clothes on, what are you, a pervert? We have indecency laws in this city..." 

Without comment Jim turned and went to the bedroom, where Blair was fighting with his hair, and Simon went back to the couch, to find the pre-game show, and it was the first of many Sundays spent the way they should be.

 

Later, that night, in the big bed upstairs, Blair was dozing off when Jim woke him with a kiss to his nose.

"What?" He asked, groggy and comfortable.

"Just wanted to kiss you." Jim said, his eyes shining bright in the dim light.

"Didn't we just do that?" Grinning, Blair snuggled closer to the bigger man's body.

"Yeah. I wasn't asking for more tonight. Just thinking." He paused.

"About what?" Blair asked at last.

"What if we hadn't met? What would have happened to me?"

"I don't know, man, but whatever it was, it ain't gonna happen now." Reassuring, Blair kissed the smooth chest under his lips. "So don't worry about it."

"You're not going to be hanging out at the club anymore, are you?" A touch of worry drew Blair up to straddle his lover, and he kissed Jim softly, then with more hunger, leaning down, his hair falling around their faces in a soft curtain.

"No, Jim. I've had my fill of back room blues now, and I've got you. There's no reason for me to go back there."

"Good." Jim smiled, and pulled him down, hands cradling the stubbled face. "Kiss me."

Blair did.

 

~~~end~~~


End file.
